


Your Day Is Not Yet Come

by Horsewomxnofwar



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning: suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horsewomxnofwar/pseuds/Horsewomxnofwar
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDEThe story of the night Tissaia found Yennefer after she attempted suicide, based on the dialogue in the flashback scene of "Lady of the Lake"
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Your Day Is Not Yet Come

**Author's Note:**

> This fan work is solely based on the Witcher book series and does not involve lore from the show or games.

The rectoress of Aretuza was woken from her sleep by a shrill scream. Some individuals, when woken in such a sudden manner, have been known to scream themselves, or to make more work for the linen maid who will inevitably clean the bed. Tissaia DeVries, however, was no such individual.

Her slippered feet hit the floor as she cursed, a habit from her impoverished childhood she refused to relinquish to the pressure of her station. She muttered an incantation, fighting a yawn that threatened to crack her jaw, and squinted for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the glowing light that now surrounded her.

The novice dormitories were not far, and she could hear muffled sobs coming from the far end of the hall. One of the novices skittered across the floor out of a room, scrambling on her backside with arms and legs kicking. Tissaia wondered what eldritch horror the girl was attempting to escape, but she detected no magical aura she could not place.

Her face white with shock and fear, the novice took notice of the rectoress as she strode down the hallway. Tissaia saw the girl’s mouth open as if to scream again, and winced, overwhelming the novice’s mind with an impulse that silenced her. The girl’s jaw went slack and she slumped back to the floor. That would have to be dealt with, but Tissaia had no patience for such childish antics in the moment.

Only a dim glow came from the now open door, flickering and sputtering like the stubby candle it no doubt came from. Tissaia grimaced as she neared the light and the smell of copper hit her nose. She dropped her own illusory light and froze in her step as her thin slipper made contact with something sticky and wet on the floor.

Novice Jennifer, a scraggly and unfortunate peasant girl from the edges of Vengerburg, lay sprawled across the narrow bed she shared with a dormitory mate. Dark, unruly hair lay tangled across her triangular face, a veritable nest on the small head that hung over the mattress. Tissaia’s blood ran cold as she noticed the dark crimson pool collecting under Jennifer’s arms - the pool that ran toward the door and ended at one elegant, now soaked, satin slipper.

She rushed to the bed and knelt frantically, her usual concern for keeping her wardrobe pristine instantly evacuating in the panic as she felt for a pulse. Clinging to her focus strained her, and she felt once again like a child struggling to fight a sail in a storm. Telepathy did not come easy to her as mind-reading did, and she feebly reached out to the mistress of the adepts.

_Come quickly. Alert no one. I need you to heal._

Ripping her gown, Tissaia quickly wound it about Jennifer’s arms. Her face and eyes stung with fury, indignation, horror. The girl had injuries enough as it was when she arrived at Aretuza. Her hunch back and sloped chin had made her an easy target for parents whose love she had lost. It was a fate too many small bodies had endured before ending up dead on the roadside, or worse. Bruises and laceration scars crisscrossed small, fragile limbs, and uneven legs and arms bore witness to a decade and a half of fractures.

To add more injury on one already so broken fueled a rage that Tissaia kept buried deep within herself. Her interference could not save everyone, not even if she were as ruthless at stealing children away in the night as the peasant folk believed. They had always died by the hundreds and would continue to do so, at the hands of their abusers or by their own in a desperate attempt to escape their fate in the only way they knew how.

Jennifer’s chest rattled as she jerked an unconscious inhale and Tissaia cast a calming spell over her. It would not do for her to awake in a frenzy, panicked, and feel discovered. A rustle at the door betrayed the adept mistress, and Tissaia’s sharp ears could hear a memory wiping spell and instructions to move to an empty room.

 _Good._ Tissaia grimaced, unable to smile. _We will deal with this tomorrow by whatever means necessary._

A gasp came from behind her, and Llewelyn rushed to her side before the door had even closed. Tissaia rose from her knees and took a step back, fixing the door closed with magic as she moved to the other side of the bed. Worry painted Llewelyn’s face in the weak candlelight as she closed her eyes to examine Jennifer’s slashed wrists. The satin wound around them was already soaked and stained, and the skin had gone a sickly chalk-white.

Llewelyn’s teeth sank into her own lip as she furrowed her brow even further in concentration and began murmuring a stabilizing spell. Tissaia clutched her own wrist, crossing her hands formally as she reminded herself not to let her emotion show in front of her subordinate. With bated breath, she watched as thin golden tendrils, invisible to an eye not attuned to magic, swirled and delved into Jennifer’s skin. The blood staining the shredded robe stopped dripping in seconds as the satin loosed its grip under Llewelyn’s deft fingers.

From one of the many pockets filling the lining of her robe, Llewelyn pulled out a small jar, smearing a thick, herbal, antiseptic paste on the still oozing and raw wounds. Fortified with chamomile and enchanted water, it was Jennifer’s best hope at recovery. Tissaia bit her tongue as she noticed the severed tendon. A sorceress without functional hands was no sorceress at all.

 _“_ By Melitele!” Llewelyn’s unguarded thoughts surfaced where Tissaia could read them. “What have you done, child?”

The small pot was relegated back to its pocket and the golden tendrils resumed once again. Tissaia was quite certain she saw a tear roll down the healer’s face as she worked laboriously to repair damaged flesh. Nearly half an hour dragged on, and beads of sweat lined Llewelyn’s hairline before she finally shifted to take out a roll of bandages and carefully wrap her patient’s wounds.

She did not speak as she stood and nodded to Tissaia. Tissaia knew she would not - it was precisely why she had called her instead of a more experienced healer. Llewelyn had been an adept herself when Tissaia joined Aretuza, but she had never been strong and had chosen to dedicate her life to grooming successive sorceresses rather than pursuing loftier ambitions. As such, there were few Tissaia would trust with secrets more than her. Tissaia dismissed Llewelyn with a flick of her wrist and turned back to Jennifer.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she did not hear the door close behind her as she gesticulated about the bed and floor. The sticky blood slid together, shining as it caught the candlelight before Tissaia twisted a finger and immolated it. A sharp scent lingered for a moment and she sat next to Jennifer’s sleeping body on the bed. Barely any color had returned to her cheeks, but her pulse was visible now, a tiny flit beneath the skin. She sat, watching the young girl for a long time, waiting for her to stir. Llewelyn returned shortly for a moment, bringing clean cloths and a small pitcher of water.

The morning sky was still grey when Jennifer finally came to and groaned, wincing as she shifted. Clumsy fingers flitted, and her head lifted as she struggled to stare first at the bandages and then the ceiling.

“No…” she croaked, her voice hollow and almost a whisper.

The violet eyes squeezed shut, tears already welling in them despite her dehydrated condition. It was a testament to her emotional and mental agony, and Tissaia steeled herself to speak.

“It did not work,” she said.

Jennifer’s chin quivered, and her dried, cracked lips hardened into a line. Tissaia saw her throat clench as she continued.

“It did not work, but not because you did not try. You cut yourself deeply. Accurately, even. Therefore, I am now with you. If you did not mean it seriously, if it was just a ridiculous, bogus exhibition, I would have only contempt for you. But you cut yourself with precision.”

Still, Jennifer did not respond, her eyes now wide open in a clear attempt to fight the tears dammed behind her lashes.

“I will take care of you, girl. I think you are worth it. I’ll work with you here. It will not be easy. I have to straighten the spine, flatten the hump - but I also must treat those hands. When you cut your veins, you severed tendons. And the hands of a sorceress are a very important instrument,” she hesitated, “Yennefer.”

She had wondered what name the girl would take upon being raised - if she was ever raised. No longer did she wonder. She dipped a cloth in the pitcher, placing it on Yennefer’s lips.

“You’ll live,” her voice was factual, serious, even severe. “Your time is yet to come. But when it arrives, you’ll remember this day.”

Eagerly, in spite of her pride, Yennefer sucked the liquid from the rag.

“I’ll take care of you, child,” Tissaia gently brushed back a curl from her face. “And now…we’re here alone, without witnesses. Not one is looking at us, and I’m not going to say anything to anyone. So cry, girl. Pour it all out. Make it your last cry. For there is nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears.”

A sob wracked itself from Yennefer’s chest as her face contorted in agony. The dam of emotion she had held back her whole life spilled over as she cried and curled into a ball. The small bed shook beneath her body, and Tissaia stroked her hair again, reminded all too intensely of the tears she shed in her youth.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this is a fan work and is not canonical, nor do I claim ownership of any of the Witcher characters or the world of the Witcher.


End file.
